


Desperation

by Aurora Danvers (Shadowed_Aurora)



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Bratting, Captain kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, F/F, Face Slapping, Humiliation, Punishment, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 14:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20547719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowed_Aurora/pseuds/Aurora%20Danvers
Summary: You're desperate to touch Carol, but she's not showing any skin. And you're in public. So you may push her a little too far to get what you want...and Carol responds accordingly





	Desperation

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this one gets a bit intense on the punishment/humiliation, particularly verbal. Calls reader "slut". Nothing too violent but want to make the trigger warning clear.

You run your hand over the soft leather hiding your girlfriend's thigh, ending by pressing your fingers deep into the side of her leg. She grabs your wrist with a vice grip, and you look down to see the veins bulging, so clear you could trace them all.

"Something bothering you, y/n?" She looks you with raised eyebrows, even though she already knows the answer. 

"Can we go home?" You whisper back to her. You don't want to be rude, but you had been at the Avenger's party for hours now. And while Carol knew everyone, you didn't. Even if they were all polite to you, you were the non-powered girlfriend of the most powerful woman in the universe. You kind of paled in comparison. Which left you sitting there all night to watch your girlfriend's legs flexing under those leather pants. And it had started to drive you wild. 

"Why? Do you have a date?" Her lips quirk into a sarcastic smirk.

"Carol," you groan, leaning into her. She wraps a clothed arm around you. You want to lean into her neck and nuzzle her skin, but that's covered too. Fuck fashion. Fuck decorum. You wanted to touch your girlfriend. Actually touch her. "Please?" It's barely a whisper, but she hears it. Her arm tightens around you in warning, her eyes already back on the others sitting around you, back to following the regular conversation. You don't care. "Please, Carol?" You're quiet enough not to interrupt the others, but that doesn't seem to make Carol any happier.

She stands so suddenly that you almost fall into the cushions that she just abandoned. You straighten up, looking up at her. She ignores you and addresses the group. "Excuse us," is all she says before reaching behind her to grab your arm and haul you off the couch. You catch a glimpse of Natasha's knowing smirk before Carol turns you around and has you walking in front of her. Or more like stumbling. You can barely keep up with the pace she was setting.

She leads you to the stairs and you try to speed up, feeling her right behind you. But that's the point at which she tangles a hand in your hair, making you arch up and into her while trying to ascend the staircase. It isn't easy and has you off balance again. To the point that Carol has to use her free arm to wrap around your waist and carry you up the remaining steps, her patience having run out. You're shoved into he first open door she sees. You haven't even turned around yet when you hear it slam shut.

You turn to face her, already cowering slightly. Maybe you had pushed her a little too far. Her blonde hair is falling out of the strict updo it had been pulled into. It reminded you of the fact that Carol rarely got this dressed up, or put this much thought into her outfit. While you were caught up in lusting for your girlfriend, you hadn't recognized how much effort she had gone through tonight. It was one of her rare moods to show off. And you had ruined it.

"You were saying?" Carol crosses her arms, her full, glaring attention on you now that she has you alone.

"S-sorry. I just wanted to touch you." You mutter, already contrite.

She takes two strides in your direction and for a moment you think of retreating, but the look in her eye tells you that would be a very bad idea. She stops when she's nearly on top of you, but still not touching you. "You want to touch me?" Her eyes narrow, her voice dark. You swallow before nodding slightly. "Use your words," she barks.

"Yes, Captain." You respond immediately, voice wavering on the last syllable.

"On your knees, now." You fall to your knees, your view completely dominated by her leather-clad legs.

Nothing happens. You wait in confusion for thirty seconds before looking up at her, craning your neck to see her face. Her eyes are still narrowed, her nose slightly scrunched. She's mad at you, you know. And you're trying not to be turned on by that fact. You're trying to be sincerely apologetic. But you're only getting wetter the angrier she gets.

"Spread your knees, you know better." Her orders are sharp. And you're quick to follow them.

The cool air hits your wet folds and you have to choke back a moan. You're in a skirt. That Carol picked out for you. And no panties, per Carol's demand. So maybe it wasn't entirely your fault you were whiny and needy after hours of sitting next to your gorgeous girlfriend with easy access to your throbbing core, which she had been ignoring all evening.

Cool leather slides between your folds and you moan, hips jerking instinctively in response to the pressure. Carol wedges her boot under your skirt, the arch of her ankle pressing perfectly against your clit. You groan, breath hitching as you try to keep still, the toe of it teasing at your opening. She slaps your face, light enough that it doesn't really hurt, but hard enough that you whimper. "Is this what you want?" She asks, her bare hand coming back to caress your cheek. Her boot is still, but applying constant pressure to your throbbing, sensitive core.

You shake your head, breath coming hard, only resulting in making your body twitch on the top of her boot. She slaps your cheek again. "Use your words," she reminds you.

"No, Captain. I want to touch you. Your skin." You manage between pants.

Her hand grabs your chin, forcing you to arch so you can look up at her, forcing your swollen clit to press harder into the laces of her boot. A strangled whimper is all you release, looking up into her wild eyes. "Show me how desperate you are, slut. If you get yourself off this way, then I may let you touch me." She releases your chin, but you don't move, staring at her with your mouth slightly agape. She's not usually this aggressive with you. But you're not about to complain. It's definitely turning you on.

She raises her eyebrows at you as you just continue to stare at her. "I don't have all day, princess. You have two minutes."

That breaks through your lust-fogged mind. Two minutes is not a lot of time. But you can already feel your wetness leaking onto Carol's boot. You start to slide your hips, trying to get enough pressure to stimulate you but not too much to hurt. Rubbing yourself across her laces was tricky. And frustrating. You moan, not caring if anyone hears you. Carol seems to pick up on that, smirking as you ride her boot desperately.

"You're such a dirty slut, being so loud. I bet you hope someone walks in on us. Would you like that?" You're eyes are closed, breathing hard as you try to focus on nothing but Carol's words and the pressure building at your core from the sensations assaulting your clit. "You want Romanoff to walk in on you, fucking yourself with my boot? I saw the way you were looking at her. Bet you wouldn't last one minute with both of us in the same room--"

The image is too much combined with the slide of leather through your folds, teasing at your clit and opening. You come, thrusting your hips harder against her leg, riding it out until your core stops clenching. You're left panting and blushing at your desperate actions.

Carol laughs softly, voice still dangerously low. "Too late, babygirl." You look up at her, your embarrassment suddenly forgotten as you get lost in her eyes.

She pulls her boot back, and you try not to look at the mess you've made. Carol keeps your gaze locked on her as she slowly bends down, reaching for the zipper of her boot. She takes her time, so that you're moaning by the time the zipper makes it to the bottom of the line. Carefully, she removes it. You finally see her toned calf, now free of the leather boot, her skin on display from her toes to her knee. Her leather pants still cover the rest. She moves to the other side, taking off her other boot just as painstakingly slow. You're enthralled.

Both boots discarded, you're staring at her, ready for her to fuck you again. Or for you to fuck her. Or at the very least to finally touch her soft, flawless skin. Your hands are inching to slide up her bare calves. "Give me your sandles." Carol never took her eyes off you.

"What--?" You barely remember how to speak.

"Your sandles, princess. Now." You scramble to obey, even though the dark edge in her voice is gone. Her smirk is back. You hand her your shoes, which she puts on. Leaving her lower legs still beautifully bare.

"Come on," she holds out her hand to you, pulling you to your feet as soon as your palm's in hers. Your confusion clear on your face as she pulls you toward the door. "You ruined my shoes, so I'm taking yours. You get to go barefoot. Because you've been such a bad girl. And no, you're not allowed to touch me."

"But--" your words are cut off by one raised eyebrow from her. "Yes, Captain." You sigh.

So much for relief. Now your folds were dripping wet, smeared down to your thighs, barely hidden by your skirt. And now you were barefoot, following mutely as Carol led you back into the crowded party, your eyes downcast, staring at Carol's calves as they flexed with each step she took. You weren't sure if finally being able to see her skin was more or less torture, if you weren't allowed to touch it. It was going to be a long night.


End file.
